


A Baldwin and a Betty

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon drives to the Valley to give Sansa a ride home.</p>
<p>'Clueless' inspired<br/>Originally Written for the Game of Ships Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Baldwin and a Betty

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Sansa gushes, sliding into the front seat of his Jeep.

For once she doesn’t comment on the fast-food napkins that litter the dash or the tacky, fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror (a gift from Ygritte’s trip to Vegas that he can’t seem to throw away).

Jon shrugs.

“Sure. What are ex-stepbrothers for?”

“Ew!” she squeals, pulling a face. “You are  _not_  my brother.”

_Thank God for that._

He casts a quick glance at her as she fiddles with the radio. She’s unusually quiet, enough so that he begins to worry. 

_A party in the Valley that went south_ , is all she’d said on the phone. Her voice had been hard to make out over the steady thump of bass in the background, and it’s only now, with her quiet and awkwardly shifting in the front seat of his car that he bothers to puzzle out exactly what that means.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” she huffs a sigh. “I just want to get home.”

He tries to think of something to cheer her up, but his mind keeps circling back to how her lipstick is a bit smudged. Like she’s been kissed.  _A lot._

“Does Ned know you’re out?“ He asks, trying to distract himself from all thoughts connected to Sansa and kissing. "And that you’re dressed as…what?” He gives her another once over and smirks “Jessica Rabbit meets Mrs. Claus?”

“This dress is  _designer!“_  Sansa says indignantly. “And I’ll have you know that Daddy trusts me completely!”

“Uh huh,” Jon laughs. “Then you called  _me_ at midnight because…”

“Oh shut up!” She punches him in the arm but she’s smiling now, so it seems worth it.

He actually was surprised that he was the one she thought to call. Sansa is always surrounded by flocks of friends and admirers, oozing the kind of effortless popularity that meant she’s never wanted for dates or rides home. Jon was certain he hardly ever crossed her radar.

_Must have been the only person with a car she thought would be sober on a Saturday night._ _Pathetic._

“Jon?” She asks, perking up suddenly.

“Hmm?” He answers absently, trying to focus on the road.

“You’re wearing a collar.”

“What?”

“Your shirt. It has a collar.”

Jon looks down at the crisp blue button down he’s still wearing, cursing himself for not taking the time to throw on a t-shirt or something before picking her up.

“So?” He shrugs, hoping to sound casual. “Lots of my shirts have collars.”

“Plaid shirts don’t count,” Sansa says matter-of-factly. She leans over the console, giving the air an experimental sniff. “And you’re wearing cologne!" she shrieks with delight.

“Would you quit?” He shoves her back to her side of the car, not liking where this is headed  _at all_.

“What happened?” Sansa asks, positively gleeful now. “Did you join a preppy cult?”

“Sansa…”

“Become an accountant?”

“I’ll drop you on the curb!“

“Have a hot date?”

Jon is sure his whole face is red now.

“Something like that,” he says, ducking his head away from her.

“Oh.” Sansa blinks at him wide-eyed.

“No need to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not.”

“I date,“ he says, sounding maybe a tad too defensive.

“Sure,” she nods.

Truthfully Jon’s not sure that what he’s been doing with Val can constitute as dating. It’s mostly just them making out in his dorm…and in his car…and in that dusty alcove at the back of the stacks.

At first he’d only wanted a distraction from his breakup with Ygritte, but as the fall semester began to wind down he started to feel guilty for using Val like that.

Tonight had been their first attempt at a real date, one that involved more than her straddling him on the beat up futon in his dorm while he shoved his hand up her shirt. Jon had made dinner reservations and bought her flowers and dressed up, all things he’d never really done for Ygritte (though she’d probably have laughed in his face if he’d tried).

“Sorry I messed up your date,” Sansa says quietly, actually sounding a little bit remorseful.

Jon sighs.

“S’fine. Wasn’t going that great anyway.”

It was true.

Turns out that when they weren’t sneaking kisses between classes or trying to tear off one another’s clothes, he and Val didn’t have too much in common.

_Go figure._

Sansa’s panicked phone call had been a godsend, and spared him from sitting through more uncomfortably stilted small talk over dessert.

“My night wasn’t going that great either,” Sansa confides.

_Ah yes…her mystery kisser._

Jon frowns, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he focuses back on the road, the car suddenly feeling much too small.

“Stop touching my stations,” he grumps when he sees her messing with the dial again, seizing the chance to move the conversation into more comfortable territory.

Sansa rolls her eyes.

“We are NOT listening to whatever mopey hipster garbage you’ve got this set to.”

He’s about to defend his ‘mopey hipster garbage’ as she so calls it, but Sansa is already changing over stations lightening quick. She cries out in delight when she settles on one at last.

Jon groans. It’s that one station that seems to play nothing but holiday songs from the minute the Thanksgiving dishes have be cleared to well past when everyone has dragged their half-dead trees to the curb and polished off the last of their leftovers.

“Anything but this,” he says. He reaches to change it, but Sansa swats his hand away, already belting out ‘White Christmas’ with Bing Crosby.

Jon tries to look annoyed, but it’s hard when Sansa seems so happy. She’s got a nice voice, he’s always thought so, and when she starts putting on that affected warble to match Bing’s he can’t help but smile.

He finally looses it when she launches into a rather camp version of ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’, laughing as she waggles her eyebrows suggestively. By the time they’ve pulled off the highway she’s somehow roped him into a horribly off-key duet of ‘Frosty the Snowman’, the pair of them grinning like idiots while chanting the ‘thumpity-thump-thumps’ with gusto.

They reach her street, a long line of mega-mansions, each sporting an obscene amount of Christmas lights.

“You know, the amount of energy wasted on this block alone—” Jon begins, but Sansa hushes him and points out the decorations she likes best.

“It’s still kind of early,” she says when they pull into her driveway. “You wanna come in?”

“It’s almost two in the morning!”

“Okay, grandpa.” Sansa rolls her eyes. “Come on! It’ll be fun. We can veg out on the couch…eat junk…”

Sansa flashes him one of her mega-watt smile, the kind he’s sure she’s been using since middle school to wrap every guy in Beverly Hills around her neatly manicured finger.

Jon swallows thickly.

“I don’t know.”

Sansa gives an annoyed huff.

“What else are you going to do? Sulk in your dorm?”

_Oh shit!_

Jon groans inwardly. He had forgotten about that. Earlier he had promised Sam the room for the night. Gilly was coming over, and at the time Jon was hoping things would go well enough that Val wouldn’t mind if he crashed at her place.

_Wishful thinking there._

He supposes he could always spend the rest of the weekend at Mom’s. She’s been pestering him for ages about visiting. Of course that would mean a two hour drive and putting up with this year’s model of douchebag: a sculptor from Seattle named David whose hobbies included never picking up the check and criticizing Jon.

“Osha made lemon bars this afternoon,” Sansa wheedles, trying to sweeten the deal. “AND I’ll let you choose what we watch!”

Sansa is looking at him expectantly, biting her lip in a way that’s making him think some very un-ex-stepbrother-appropriate thoughts.

“Deal,” he finally nods in agreement.

“No depressing Netflix documentaries!” she hurries to stipulate. “Or foreign films!”

He laughs.

“Fine. So long as I don’t have to sit through anything on the ‘E!’ network.”

“Fine,” she concedes, sticking her tongue out at him.

Later, when they’re stretched out on the couch fighting over a bowl of cheese puffs, both of their terrible nights forgotten, Jon smiles to himself.

_I really need to visit Ned more often._ This is the most relaxed he’s been since final exams.

He is enjoying the movie when Sansa prods him in the ribs with her foot to get his attention.

“Hey!” Sansa says, nudging his side once more. “You should stay here.”

Jon blinks at her in confusion. 

“Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?”

He ducks, laughing as she throws a handful of cheese puffs at his head.

“No dummy! I mean over Christmas break! Daddy and I aren’t going to Vale this year. Not with his heart and everything, so we’re having a quiet family Christmas at home. But with just the two of us, it’s not much of a family Christmas, and well, I suppose it wouldn’t be  _too_  horrible if you were around too.”

Jon is not sure what to make of this offer. Sansa delivered the whole thing so off-handedly, like it was only natural to invite former sort-of family members to spend Christmas.

If she’s serious, it would be great! Mom’ll grumble some, but Jon’s doesn’t think he can handle three weeks trapped in a house with her and Deadbeat Dave. Then again, can he really survive three weeks trapped in a house with Sansa?

He looks over at Sansa. She’s flipped her head over, combing her fingers through her long red hair before gathering it to the top of her head. Sitting back up, she ties it in place with a hot pink hair thingy, her t-shirt riding up just a little with her movements revealing pale smooth skin and… _shit. I am so going to hell._

“I thought I wasn’t your brother,” he teases half-heartedly. He is beginning to worry that’s exactly how she sees him.

“Ugh! You’re not!” Sansa says, annoyed. “Look,  _you’re_  the one who said I should try to think of people other than myself. I was just trying to be nice, but forget it.”

Sansa won’t look at him, suddenly intensely interested in the movie. She is scowling and her cheeks and neck are blotched with pink.

_Is she embarrassed?_

Jon stares at her, baffled. He’s seen her angry plenty of times, but this is something different. Sansa, confident, popular Sansa, looks downright  _vulnerable,_ and Jon feels like the world’s biggest ass.

He pauses, considering his words carefully.

“I’ll talk to Ned and my Mom about it,” he offers. “Okay?”

A silence stretches between them before Sansa finally shrugs.

“Yah, okay. Whatever.”

She doesn’t look away from the screen but her lips tilt up into a smile.

Jon smiles too, relaxing some and snatching a handful of cheese puffs. He settles back just in time to watch Macaulay Culkin scare off a pizza delivery guy.

“ _Keep the change, you filthy animal!”_

Sansa snorts out a laugh, sinking further into the couch, her shoulder touching Jon’s. She doesn’t move away. Her whole side is pressed to his, warm and soft and smelling overwhelmingly of girl.

_Yep,_ Jon thinks as he stretches an arm over the back of the couch right behind her head.  _Definitely going to hell._


End file.
